The universe had a twisted sense of humor. Out of all the people in the world, it had to be him.

You exhaled sharply as you leaned against the cold metal wall of the stalled elevator. The emergency light flickered overhead, casting an glow over Damiano’s face. He looked too relaxed for someone stuck in a confined space.

“You look tense,” he chuckled, tilting his head slightly. “Claustrophobic, or just because it’s me?”

You ignored him, pressing the emergency button again even though you both knew it was useless. The intercom had crackled to life ten minutes ago with a bored-sounding voice promising that help was on the way. That was the last you'd heard.

Damiano stretched his arms over his head, his shirt riding up just enough to be annoying. “Could be worse,” he remarked. “At least you’re stuck with someone charming.”

You shot him a glare. “That’s debatable.”

Another smirk.

Minutes passed in silence, thick with something unspoken. Then, out of nowhere, he asked, “You really hate being alone with me that much?”

Your fingers curled into your palms. “I hate how nothing ever seems to get to you.”

Something flickered in his gaze—something unreadable, gone too fast. Then, slowly, he leaned in, close enough that you could see the gold flecks in his eyes.

“Oh, things get to me,” he murmured. “Just not in the way you want them to.”